Sunday, November 8, 2009

The universe, even it it's infinite vastness and equal measure of mystery, has offered me a clue to cracking it's existence. It's a bit of a Robert Langdon to the Da Vinci Code, if you will. So I will offer all of you my tidbit of wisdom, and it is this: my husband leaves on a trip and everything goes to shit.

Yes. Critters and toxic mold invade by the plague-ful, pets die, electricity evades, and my 2 year-old suddenly likes to expose my chest to the Dollar Tree cashier. And as if that isn't enough to make you want to strike a deal with Satan himself to never have to utter the words "Are you fucking kidding me??" again...

Friday, October 30, 2009

Wow, it's October 30th already! And guess what...I finished our costumes last week. Hells yeah, I did. Just in time to go to a "costume" party, realize nobody was dressed up, and go home to change.

Fail.

Yeah, it was a coworker's pumpkin carving party and the flyer said "Come in costume or come as you are." It also said that the party started at 3:30. We took it to heart and arrived on time, as Sookie Stackhouse, Dracula, and a bat.

That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke...Sookie, Dracula and a bat walk into a bar... But instead of a bar, it was party and instead of those characters it was us in dressed up at a non-costume-costume party. Everyone else we knew wasn't planning on A.) coming dressed up or B.) coming for another 2 hours.

So we had the options of sitting in the car at the end of the driveway until our friends showed up or getting out and mingling with these people (who probably assumed we were going as retards for halloween). We chose to peel out and go home. We came back an hour and a half later and in normal clothes. I saw a total of 5 costumes out of the 50 or so adults that came to the party.

Let me just say, that this was all after I freaked out about sewing Dom's cape in time to go to this party...to the point that he got me flowers and chocolates before I started sewing people to furniture.

But a Happy Halloween weekend to all! And just so you know, my office smells like rotten milk-feet-dog and I don't know why. So you all are very, very lucky that I made a post.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Michael and I have been quarantined since returning from our California trip. Not because we have the piggy flu, just mostly that we're both too cranky to be seen by people and our snotty attitude is as contagious as our faces. We just have sinus infections. Michael is a bajillion times better since getting his antibiotic; I'm a weenie who hates going to the doctor so I'm feeling slightly worse today.

Yesterday, however, was a miraculously productive day. Even in spite of my horrific nasal passages and their resident city of bacteria. Just in the last 12 hours it's gone from Mayberry in there to Metropolis. They may have even been setting off fireworks last night to celebrate the latest expansion and that's why I couldn't stop sneezing.

But back to me not being a completely worthless lump of snot-filled Cassidy. Yesterday I finished Michael's Halloween costume, sewed a piece for mine, cleaned the front of the house, folded 2 towels, gave Michael a bath, and worked on the hat I promised I'd knit for Donna (that I've been slowly working on for nearly a year). Pretty good for someone who thinks she might die today.

Seriously. And if you don't come to my funeral, I'm going to haunt you and blow ethereal boogers all over your pillow. Know what happens when you catch a ghost cold? You have it forever because ghost bacteria and viruses don't die. But when you go to the doctor, she won't see it because it's a freaking ghost! You'll be institutionalized until you die from the madness and continue haunting the people who didn't believe you or go to YOUR funeral until the entire population is nothing but sniffly spooks.

Don't be the sole cause of the world's obliteration. Make me soup or something.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

So a barista, a vampire, and my husband walk into a bar...wait, no I've screwed it up. But the punchline is the hottest joke ever?

This post needs some back story. Let's hip-smack, rewind it back, shall we? I could cleverly tell you the details of my conversations via facebook yesterday where this whole ordeal started, or I could just be clever and cut/paste them. So I give you status update and subsequent conversations, exhibit A:

I am! Bill can suck it...well not literally, he'd rather enjoy that being a bloodsucker and all...but seriously, Eric's the way to go.And you guys are going to get me in trouble. :( But all's fair; Dom's gone until 9 tonight so I'm allowed a book romance right?

Monday, September 7, 2009

Dom and I have done a series of dates lately of which a babysitter was used. No big deal, but it does get tiresome to constantly explain where your child is.

Say, at the wedding we went to about 2 weeks ago? We knew a lot of people in attendance, and every moment we saw someone for the first time that night they'd ask "Where's Michael?" or "Aren't you missing something?"

Well, dumbass, since common sense seems to pass you by...I've actually come up with a Top 10 list of favorite answers I like to give people at such an occasion.

10. In the car. I cracked the window.9. We sold him to the circus as a knife thrower.8. He's in the bathtub, playing "easy-bake oven."7. I knew I forgot something!6. At work, where else?5. Who's Michael? [walk off]4. He's been adopted by a couple in China.3. Prison. We don't like to speak of him any more.2. Hm. Where did I leave him last?1. [at Dom] I thought he was with you! [run off panicked]

All you parents out there are welcome to use any of them. I like sharing in my awkwardness.

Today's subject line quote is (from one of the best movies of my childhood) Albert Collins, "Adventures in Babysitting" (1987).

My Labor Day weekend was, for the most part, uneventful and that's the way I like it. My father-in-law came to visit for slightly over 24 hours (Sat-Sun), Dom and I saw a movie, and just had a game night with a couple we know from Dom's office. The End. Oh, and Dom got me these in pink:

They're mop-slippers. I can clean with ease AND style!

Today's subject line quote is Col. Hans Landa, "Inglourious Basterds" (2009). (Great movie btw, it's what we went to see on Saturday. Entertaining from the start.)

Thursday, September 3, 2009

You know what I didn't wake up thinking two days ago? Hey, it'd be awesome if everyone's facebook exploded with uterine exegesis?! Yeah, that happened. And it ruined my routine of ass-sitting and Mommy chit-chat all day long.

Do I have to say it? I don't give a flying hunk of marmoset poo that Michelle Duggar is pregnant for the 19th time, and I'm certainly not shocked or surprised. The woman's uterus is a professional fetal support system--why shut down the factory after 20 years of hard labor? bah-dah-ching! High five? Anyone? Bueller?

But seriously, stop. Facebook has been overrun with commentary about a stranger's cooter for the last few days and I need it to end. Maybe it's just me, but unless I'm somehow related to the subject vagina, I don't want to know about what's in it. I also don't want to see pictures of the little alien-shaped embryo. Unless it has a percent chance of coming out looking like me. *muah-kiss-kiss* Close friends count as relatives, so no worries. I want to see your hoo-ha!

So here's to not over-sharing the deets of our reproductive organs to unfamilar faces! In the words of Juno, "I'm guessing it looks probably like a sea monkey right now and we should let it get a little cuter." K, thanks.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

This post is just to inform you all of my adorable husband. I mean, look at him!Cute, right?

He always wakes me up in the morning to say he's leaving for work at the hairy-asscrack of dawn, and I only seem to appreciate it on the days I wake up before he leaves and get all huffy that he skedaddled without giving me a kiss first.

But apparently the semiconscious hugs I give from my pillow every morning are enough to have me declared "the best wife in the world" to facebook. What a lovely status update to see first thing today! And who said "Romance is dead," besides me earlier this week. What? I forgot that he seems to idolize me on facebook at times. But material presents are a nice touch too. *wink* You know, paying tribute to the goddess that is your wife? Flowers, candies, cards, human sacrifices...Wait, what?

Plus last Saturday we got to go to a wedding for the first time in 3 years and he was uber mushy and giving me the dough eyes...*sigh*...while wearing his formal dress whites.

(The first couple in the picture are Dave and Michelle)

I have "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer playing in my head right now. Oh, and that's the dress I made for my birthday thankyouverymuch. You can't see the bottom of it in that picture so I'll give you another shot to ogle me in. This was from the weekend before last when Liz came to visit and we all went to New Orleans.

Ignore the gigantic, seductive bandaid on my back. That was so my hideoussexy stitches were covered and nobody on Bourban Street would puke on them.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

As many of you already know, I've been seeing a dermatologist for about a month or so now. I had a suspicious mole on my back biopsied; it came back atypical but noncancerous. Just to be safe, I had the surrounding tissue removed. The margins are clear and I'm super-duper.

Except I went in with a precancerous mole and came out with acne. Dr. D gave me two prescription creams and now my bacteria-face is peeling, the fuck, off. Oh, and not to mention that everything UNDER my skin has decided to get the hell out of dodge and surface. So I have a mountainous pimple on my chin big enough to be declared a city. I'm expecting to see tiny people starting to settle on it and plant a flag any day now.

Colossal blemishes aside, I really just wanted to tell you all about what my dermatologist likes to wear to work. Granted, I've only seen her on Fridays so it could be some "extreme casual Friday" business, but seriously? This is what she had on when I got my last set of stitches out...

She walks in wearing pajama pants. And I'm 90% sure they're not scrubs because they were the thin, well-worn, striped kind with the drawstring front, and a frayed hem. To go with the "I own my own practice and don't care what I wear" getup, she added some slip on shoes that looked like they were from Hot Topic. The kind a scene kid would wear, complete with black, white, and red checkered pattern and a bow on top. And here's the best part! She wore a longsleeved, gray undershirt with a tiny, Barbie pink t-shirt over it that had "Botox" bejeweled on it.

I shit you not. Here, I drew a picture of it. Today's subject line quote is Buffy, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (1997) {Teacher's Pet (#1.4)}.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

* Built a corner desk out of shelving material and plastic drawers (total cost: $55)* Designed a dress for my birthday outing (it's only lacking the hem now)* Made 2 1/2 purses* Taught a toddler to stick out his thumbs and say "Aaaayyy" like The Fonz* Taught the same toddler the alphabet* Finally decorated my house to near perfection (bedroom is still lacking)* Won an epic war waged against killer ants invading my house* Made an extended car trip with a 1 1/2 year old, solo* Emailed my husband once a day for a month* Celebrated my 5th wedding anniversary* Had my cat cremated* Brainstormed a kickass idea for a teen novel that will never be written* Had a miniscule mole on my back removed for pretty much no reason at all* Touched a hissing cockroach at the Insectarium* Visited the Aquarium* Perfected my sugar-free chocolate chip cookie recipe* Had a smoke bomb explode in my hand, turning my fingers hot pink

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Tonight I was talking to my mother on the phone while checking my email (I'm a woman, we're decent multitaskers) when I glimpsed something to my right. As it started to register what it was, and how LARGE it was, I quickly hopped over the baby gate surrounding the desk and proceeded to freak out. That's because what I saw was something like this...

Okay, so it wasn't bigger than a house since it was inside my house. But it did look like it could eat me--or at least win in a bar fight against a drunk biker. He was so huge, he may have actually been Spiderman and just didn't realize.

Now, Gigantospider had perched on the rail of the baby gate and nested itself between the desk and the wall. How does one smash a freakishly enormous spider that's wedged in a relatively tiny spot? That's when the hilarity ensues.

I had limited options.

First, I could just ambush the sucker and hope I smash the crap out him before he has a chance to fling himself at my face. But given his location, I didn't see much room for success. In fact, he'd be likely to hide behind the desk and I'd never get to use the computer again!

Secondly, by slowly pulling the gate forward I might bring him out far enough to...well...smash the crap out of him before he eats my face off and escapes to destroy the greater New Orleans area and lay it's eggs that hatch buick-sized monster babies.

As I'm evaluating my options, my mother is still on the phone giving me motivational tidbits such as, "All your laundry for the trip is in the office. You're going to be driving down the road and have one pop out and crawl up your leg." She was also kind enough to remind me that they could be lurking in my bedsheets or shoes.

Awesome. Now I have visions of spiders the size of my face coming out of the pipes, waving their fangs at me and I will NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.

I opted to arm myself with Dom's shoe and a rolled up newspaper and to stare at it for nearly half an hour, throwing in a good shiver and squeemish girly noise occasionally. But I knew option #2 was my safest bet, so I began pulling the gate out at a rate measured by nanometers per decade.

The splatter of spider guts was epic. It's like I hit it with just the right umph to shoot its legs into the wall and send the body spiraling to the floor. And it still wasn't dead! Because we all know you can pulverize a spider into 14 pieces, scattered across 3 states but it will still twitch if you go to pick it up with a paper towel.

That's why I hit it 9238749237439 more times with the shoe and carried it to the bathroom with a pair of tongs and flushed it. And now it will live in the sewers of Louisiana and send an army of mutant spiderlings up through the toilets of the unexpecting masses.

Today's subject line quote is Paige [after getting stuck on the wall by a spider-demon], "Charmed" (1998).

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

No word from Dominic since his flight landed on Monday. I'm assuming they're not letting anybody on the boat contact family so they can be all secrety and hunt bad guy submarines. Or something boss like that? Because if it's something lame, like Dom forgetting to email me, it's a bit more uncool.

Speaking of which, I went to my Zumba class tonight. Evenings at the MegaGym are ridiculously packed. First off, I had to wait in line to even turn into the parking lot because there were cars waiting in line for someone to leave their spot! There was a line to wait in line...

So the class was super pakced and the only spot for me was, naturally, by the window. Let's forget that I had an exhausting day with le bebe, battled ants for claim to my bathroom, or the fact that my dinner was a PB & J. If you take all of that away and put me by the window on my BEST day in Zumba, I still look like a freaktard. Now I've got everyone walking in from the main entrance stopping to stare at me like I'm a fish in the aquarium. Children even tap on the glass.

But at least I wasn't the girl in pink up front. She likes to boogie, and I don't think she cares who knows it. Unfortunately, she looked a lot like Selma Blair in Cruel Intentions when she was dancing around, singing "secret society, secret society."

Monday, June 8, 2009

Dom made it safely to Norfolk yesterday afternoon and will setting sail sometime today, I believe. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, things did not get off to a smooth start.

My friend, Christine, watched Michael for us Sunday night so we could go on a date! It was super sweet of her to take on a rambunctious toddler on top of her 3 other boys. Not literally on top--you know what I mean.

Anyway, we went to see Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian. It was cute and about as funny as the first, but overall it felt like the writers got lazy and recycled a lot of the same old jokes. I think sequels often have the same affect as senioritis; they don't really give a crap because everything is secured. People will spend the money to see Piece of Crap: The Sequel because the original was good. Or if it really was sh-crap, the promise of a second movie means it will be better!

So approximately 105 minutes, a bag of buttered up popcorn, and half a king-size Reeses's Peanut Butter Cup later, we weren't exactly jonesing for some dinner. But I'm a caffeine addict and requested somewhere with coffee and we ended up at a local diner.

So approximately 45 minutes, a Belgium waffle, four giant slices of French toast buried in powdered sugar/drenched in syrup, and 2 cups of coffee later...

Michael had been a darling for the sitter! Later Christine told me, "When we were eating dinner, we asked Tyler if we could keep him and he said we could! He said he could sleep on the couch and he would be his big brother." Michael also kept kissing baby Jacob while he was there. Phenomenal news! Because when I hold baby Jacob, Michael tries to slap him.

We decided to reward Michael with a trip to the car wash. Most kids find the automatic car washes funny, so why not give it a go?

Approximately 10 minutes, a terrified toddler, and an over-squeezed set of adult hands later...

He wasn't a fan. He didn't cry, but he had to hold Dom's hand. He also kept looking out the window with bug eyes every time a spinner came by and telling us (calmly) "No. No." We paid $8 to frighten my son. Fantastic.

He fell asleep on the way home but Dom wasn't ready to put him to bed yet because he was going to have to leave the house around 5 a.m. and would miss saying goodbye in the morning. That's when I got to take this picture:

To round out the super-awesome date night, however, I decided to barf up everything I had pigged out on in the past 24 hours. Apparently I got some stomach bug and expelled everything I had in me.

Good news is, I finally broke into the 140's again! Only 17 more pounds to go before I reach my weight loss goal!! Don't worry, I'm planning on losing that through diet and exercise and not by vomiting. But, that's probably only 3 good flu's away from being skinny? But I am wearing this dress right now...

That's Dom and I leaving our wedding reception back in 2004. I fit into that dress again!

Thursday, June 4, 2009

I have good news, followed by bad news and lots of crying, followed by good news and much giddiness. I'm not even going to bother asking you what order you want it in; it's my blog and it makes more sense to do it the way I just set it up.

Oh, Happy Day

I finally booked my manicure and pedicure at the spa and it was fabulous. Dom's dad got me a gift card for a 2 hour hand and foot extravaganza for Mother's Day. It was stereotypically the most relaxing place I've ever seen.

They have a "quiet room" to wait in where they bring you hot tea and you can read magazines and listen to fountains dribble while they get set up. The fountain thing just made me have to pee, but bodily fluids aside, it was relatively calming. Then I got my feet rubbed while sitting in a massaging chair, my hands dipped in paraffin wax, and my nails painted a pretty purple shade that I managed to screw up on the way to the car (even AFTER I waited the 15 minutes for everything to dry). My hand and feet are still feel soft. I love being a girl!

Afterward I called Dom and let him know how it went. He asked, "So you're nice and relaxed now? Not stressed or in a bad mood?" I answered "No," followed by "Why? Do you have bad news?"

Yes, Bad News

Because some Chief is a dumbassand can't get qualified to go on his own deployment, Dom will be leaving on Monday in his place.He'll be gone for a month.There will probably be much bloggage in his absence.So I suppose it's good news for you guys!

Happy Ending?

Since my husband is adequate at his job and has to take the place of Chief Diddly Hoo Ha, he will be gone for our 5th wedding anniversary on June 12th. Dom took me out for an impromptu dinner and romp around the mall (get your mind out of the gutters, people) last night.

That's when I got this.

I have such a great hubby! Now I'm going to miss him extra because he was all gushy and sentimental. Here, let me ruin it with this video.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

I'm too [insert adjective that makes you less upset with me for not blogging here] to write my own life's story of late, so I'm just stealing Liz's (my sister-in-law) latest blog update. But she's a popular bloggess, so it's all good. This requires participation, so cooperate or you won't get any new posts at all!

Who would play me in a lifetime movie? Liz suggested Drew Barrymore for this reason:

Bubbly, adorable-faced blonde with porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. She can clearly handle the quirkiness of the Cassidy out on the town with the gals, having a few margaritas - we've all seen her not handle alcohol well in Wedding Singer. She can also handle the darker, depressing Cassidy turmoil - she just has to dredge up her own past, right? We've seen her do dark and philosophical in Donnie Darko. And an artsy poet in Music and Lyrics. And when it comes to the spiritual side of Cass? I'm thinking a bit of "Firestarter" LOL! I'm trying to figure out where to throw in the Charlie's Angels reference...but I've never witnessed you kickin ass.

Do you agree? Why or why not. If you reply, I will then cast someone to play you.

Now, let's hear who you guys think would play you? Wait, why don't you post your name, and I'll give you MY best offer, then you can tell me whether you had a better idea. : )

Monday, May 25, 2009

I have a good blog for you. This is not it. This is another craptastic puddle of mediocre word diarrhea. My other idea is taking too long and will have to be for tomorrow. Maybe. Maybe I just have a case of the blog runs and will continue to write shitty pages for a few days.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

See? This is why I don't usually blog on the weekends! I'm so invested in whatever other shenanigans and hoopla that I just don't have it in me to type anything witty out for you people. Not to mention going out two Saturdays in a row, free cosmos at ladies' night, and more drama than the alcohol...has left me with limited brain cells.

And seriously, I'm not a drunk. As Jenn said, I'm more of an amateur than a lush. I can't hold my liquor because I don't usually drink. And since peer pressure and the promise of "we love you when you're tipsy" have replaced the little angel and devil on my shoulders, I usually end up saying (or screaming) things like "ME ME ME" and "somebody walk me to the bathroom" by the end of the night. So three mixed drinks involves me needing an escort to the bathroom because I can't balance sitting down, much less walk myself across a bar.

I did have a lot of fun! And I certainly wasn't the worst one of the bunch. We all got to see different sides of our fellow Mommy friends, and it was both entertaining and heartwarming--enough to make me puke. Or that could just be the hangover.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

A few months ago I splurged and bought my first ever, non-disposable razor. It's a Gillette Venus Breeze with the built in shaving gel on the replaceable blade heads.

First couple times I used it, no big whoop. It's a razor. It's not any cheaper than disposable razors. It even produces a tremendous amount of trash from all the cartridges that the razor heads come in. But you know what the difference between a disposable razor and this particular one is?

Bleeding to death.

I switched back to disposables temporarily because I didn't have time to go searching for the right make and model in the grocery store the last time I went. So when I pulled out my disposable Bic Soleil, I nearly chopped my leg off with it.

Maybe it's the shave gel or the shock absorbing neck I've gotten used to on my Gillette, but I looked like a mangled emo kid by the end of my shower. And because I was so scared of nicking an artery, I missed lots of spots.

Yesterday I must have looked like a yeti with mange in my shorts. Every time I looked down I caught, yet ANOTHER, patch of hair I had managed to leave on my legs. And it's not blonde, you-can-only-see-it-in-the-right-light hair either. I have thick, dark, black, coarse leg hair.

Pants it is! Until I can get some more cartridges for my razor, at least.

Today's subject line quote is Dick Solomon, "3rd Rock from the Sun" (1996).

Friday, May 22, 2009

It is 10:27 p.m. and I am too tired to give you a real, daily blog. Sorry, but you get this piece of crap.

After meowing for about 2 hours straight, I finally threatened my cat that I would sell him to a Vietnamese restaurant if he didn't shut the hell up.

I also so Terminator Salvation this afternoon. The sound was so loud and rumbly, that when we walked through the parking lot I nearly peed my pants when a car with the bass all the way up drove behind us.

Also, I've eaten nothing but fast food and popcorn for 2 days straight and It makes me feel a little barftastic. Definitely not going to help rid myself of the jiggly bits.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

I just got back from the movies with my friend, Jules. She's funnier than me, you'd like her. Or you do like her since some of you have met her. Anyway, we had the theater to ourselves because nobody wants to see X-Men Origins: Wolverine, including us. Night at the Museum 2 didn't have any showings until midnight.

I'm too old for that. Jules brought me a latte with 3 shots of espresso and I'm still gonna pass out before 12.

We kinda had a Mystery Science Theater 3000 dialogue going--which was fine because the whole movie's dialogue consisted of "NOOOOOOOOOOO!," arms flinging back, and grunts. But I did see a tremendous amount of beefy men and Hugh Jackman's bush, so it evened out.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

I just pulled a crying child off of the conveyor belt at the register of a Winn-Dixie.

Yes, it was my child. He had not taken a nap despite the 3 attempts I'd made since 9 o'clock this morning, and this was not one of those didn't really need a nap kinda days. Tired tots are a lot like the Incredible Hulk; they transform into an uncontrollable beast that thrives on the anger of frustrated parents and caregivers.

Despite my son's episodes of crankiness, he seemed in a good mood after working out at the gym. So when I ran to the store for exactly two items, I didn't anticipate it being a mother-son wrestling match in the aisles of Winn-Dixie. It was horrible!

First off, he now refuses to sit in normal shopping carts. I have to use a clunky one with a child steering wheel attached that doesn't steer with the kiddie wheel OR the normal handle. Does he at least stay quiet and enjoy his mother's ridiculous efforts to calm him while maneuvering an 18 wheeler through the aisles that are not designed big enough for their own carts?

No.

He starts doing an interpretive dance comprised of up, down, jump, scream that must be designed for attracting bad moods because we were both in one by the end of it. And as I'm yelling at him to sit down before he falls out and spills cranky baby brains all over the tile, he grabs my neck and begins to pull himself out. Using the cart as leverage under his little toes, he starts pushing off and standing up to wrap himself around my torso.

By this point, I'm pushing a gigantic cart around the corner while wearing a toddler like a scarf.

I had to bait him into the car with Teddy Grahams--of which he fell asleep with his hand still in the container on the way home. And you know what? I Didn't even make it home with both the things I went to the store for in the first place.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

About two weeks ago I was so sluggish and grumbley about the perpetual sink full of dishes that I was praying to Betty Crocker for guidance while looking for the switch that would put me back into homemaker mode.

I found it. It broke. I've been stuck at ludicrous speed for two days now.

Once I get past the morning grogginess by ingesting a few gallons of coffee and staring at a wall for a minute or two, it's GO, GO, GO! Yesterday I did all the laundry in the house, folded it, and put it away, (Or tried to at least. I'm not used to having everything clean at once, so I ran out of dresser space and hangers) and made a purse from scrap materials.

Today I cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, scrubbed the counter tops, and windexed the appliances. What's next, color coding my closets and alphabetizing my shirt labels? Maybe I should start small by simply finishing my projects from back in 2000andgodknow'swhen.

Yeah, I owe people crafty projects all across the country. I have a partially knitted hat for Donna in Portland, Oregonthat I started when it was still cold. There's a neglected Memphis Raqs sign in my garage in need of some quality artist-project-spraypaint time, too. Hell! Remember that purse I finished yesterday? It was something I had promised to make for a friend from Charleston before I graduated in 2007.

I have craft ADD. I get all invested in a project just long enough to see something "cooler" that I want to make and run after it like a hyperactive kid who just saw a quarter. Or whatever other shiny things their attracted to these days.

Monday, May 18, 2009

I have survived this seemingly pernicious weekend, and it was no simple feat.

Just like most of you, I'm grateful for Friday to come around, sweep me off my feet and carry me swiftly into the sunset of Saturday and Sunday to recover from a hellacious week. But, this weekend? It must have downed some primo speed, smoked a pound of crack, and went on an espresso binge in an alleyway behind Starbuck's.

Can you even get crack by the pound?

Regardless, I'm worn out and now need the work week to recover. Why? Because Friday-Sunday were filled with things like this:

FRIDAY

Well, actually, I don't remember Friday. Weird. I'm sure it was splendidly filled with kooky events and equally freakish people enacting them. Wait...was Friday the day we went to the park? If so, I was right and that's when the old man kept hinting that I need to be touching Michael in order to keep a close enough eye on him. Doesn't matter. Saturday is what you really want to hear about.

Saturday

My mother-in-law came to visit and subtly called my outfit whorish.

Saw Angels and Demons in the theater and was called out by my husband on my "reaction" when Ewan McGreggor appeared on screen. He thought I was laughing at his accent, and I assured him it was just because the man is very pretty.

Something about a wine bar, a rude waitress named "Titty McSlutterson," and me raising a "not a vaginatarian" to her "strictly dickly."

Lastly, there were exploding lightbulbs in my bedroom when I got home.

Sunday

Woke up around 6 with the dogs and stood in my bedroom staring at the wall until Dom asked me what I needed. To which I rasped "water," gulped down a cupful and somehow woke up again around 9 with no knowledge of getting back into bed.

Rain, New Orleans French Quarter, more rain, more mother-in-law, and a hangover.

It was much fun. But there can be too much of a good thing and now I have to decide between taking a shower or going into small coma while Michael is napping.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

When I did that whole bit about writing every day, I wasn't sure if I meant weekends too. I guess so since I'm typing this out on a Saturday. It is Saturday, right?

If it is, then that means I get to go to the wine bar again with the moms from Meetup! I'm psyched up for chugging back a glass of champagne, or seven. I've even been practicing karaoke just in case someone drunkenly announces that we just have to do it.

Unfortunately, there isn't much that practice can do for me. I suck. Hard. I'm in the caliber of suck as one of those Oreck vacuum cleaners that can pick up bowling balls. It sounds like cats in a microwave or something. But if I had to because my singing to a midi file would save the word from an alien attack....here are my star songs:

Friday, May 15, 2009

We live here now--in Slidouche. It's slightly more official because I can go to the grocery store and run into natives that know my name. That means we're settled, no going back!

I don't remember that feeling abruptly punching me in the gut when we had moved to South Carolina. It, more or less, snuck up behind me to knock me out with the barrel of a shotgun. And suddenly, I liked it there in that redneck melting pot.

Sure, the fear of being rear-ended for stopping at a red light was hampering. And occasionally I missed customer service representatives talking to me instead of grunting. But I had those great, once-in-a-lifetime friends that mesh into your family. And Jenn was only a few hours away to visit on holidays!

It was also pretty. Downtown wasn't any farther away than New Orleans is from my house now, but I had a reason to visit downtown Charleston daily! It was smaller, and quainter, and I got to know it rather well.

Now I've got slidouchebags trying to shove the Fleur de Lis so far down my throat that I vomit LSU purple and yellow! I suppose I should quit resisting and just accept it. I'm sure in a few years I'll be whining about leaving Lousiana from our next station.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Do you guys remember that book How to Eat Fried Worms? It was all about a kid who made a bet with a bully that he could and would eat a worm a day for like a year, or some extended period of time. This blog is my worm.

I've decided that Writing is bullying me too far. And just to spite Writing and parry his attempts to give me Indian rug burns or rub metaphorical dirt in my face, I'm going to write SOMETHING here every day.

It may not be mind-blowing. Probably won't even be coherent! But I will defeat that tyrant...

even if I have to eat my own words?

Today's subject line quote is Brian Robeson, A Cry in the Wild (1990).

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Ever tried putting on lipstick while half your face is numb? You should. It's fun as shit. If you haven't guessed, I got the last half of my fillings done this morning. My lower lip is just a blob of skin to me right now. If I open my mouth at all, I have to be careful that it doesn't get stuck between my teeth. Gross, really.

Speaking is..interesting. It's giving me flashbacks to when I had my braces put in and had a palate expander that kept me from being able to pronounce words with vowels in them. Had to stop at Wal-Mart for an air filter and I thought people were going to start signing to me because, yes, I sound like I've been deaf since birth.

Right now I'm attempting to drink through a straw while praying that I don't aspirate diet Dr. Pepper and die a humiliating death before my 25th birthday. So far? So good. Now I'm going to blow raspberries and finish the laundry.

Today's subject line quote is Chandler Bing, "Friends" (1994) {The One with All the Poker (#1.18)}.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Dom and I got our buddy, Larry, to come sit on the baby last weekend so we could go to the movies and feel like real adults for a while. We went to go see the new Star Trek and then retreated to a wine bar. And we picked the wine bar just so that we've been to a bar together on a date without losing all that prestige and pompousness we've acquired all these years by using words like "pompousness" and "lacrimose."

That's beside the point, which is this: Star Trek was AWESOME. Maybe it was just seeing a summer blockbuster in an actual theater, or eating fistfuls of popcorn somewhere other than my couch, or maybe even just seeing Sylar with groomed eyebrows...but it was awesome.

Of course you have to go into it knowing that it's an epic space opera and is more of a headbang to the old 1960's series than a nod. Also, you can't say the words "space opera" and not expect me to start quoting lines from The Wrath of Khan in vibrato. I have done it, publicly.

Today's subject line quote is Armando Guittierrez, "Freakazoid!" (1995) {The Chip: part 2/Freakazoid Is History (#1.7)}.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Writing is still mad at me, ran off to Cancun with My Patience, and left me here alone with Crankiness. So I thought I'd just share a picture to let you all know that I'm alive...and have pretty hair.

Been doing a wild 'n curly thing with it, hoping it will make me look hot and not tamable--like a lion, even though girl lions look bald and it makes no sense for me to want hair like that. It also makes me less of a slave to my hairdryer, and therefor, my electric bill.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Me and writing haven't been getting along very well lately. I've always got some great thoughts dancing around in my head, but every time I sit down to type I'm just like, "Fuck you, Writing! What's you're problem? I don't need your shit." Then I throw a drink in his face.

Which is why it's a good thing I haven't been trying to blog at the Starbucks or somewhere public. People get scared when you yell at imaginary things and demand their coffees to go. Not a good way to make friends with the native Slidouchebags.

And see? That's all I've got for you today because Writing is being a bitch. And not in a good way, like Writing is MY bitch. No, just a typical drunk chick off the Rock of Love bus kinda bitch. Yeah Writing, I just gave you Herpes! How do you like that? Oh, well I didn't give you Herpes from me, I just...whatever. I'll just go clean something.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

I realize and have now not only addressed the elephant in the room, I had a nice talk with her. She likes chick flicks, works for Nilla Wafers instead of peanuts, and is ironically afraid of clowns for a former circus performer. Maybe that's why she's camped out on my couch watching DVD's of Grey's Anatomy?

Anywho, I have some things I need to do for myself. Stuff I'm not really ready for the world to read about just yet. Pull yourself together! I know it's out of character. I'm so self-involved and intertwined with the internet reading about my life that Michael might actually be the love child of me and this blog. There's no blood test compatible for half-human-half-megabyte babies though, so Dom will just have to go on raising him as his own.

I did go back and read my old, angsty, teenage blogs for some clarity. Holy crapola on a stick! I had a lot on my mind circa 2002. It's a bit more obvious to me now what was bothering me. Wonder what made me so absorbed at the time that I couldn't see Jumbo playing Crash Bandicoot in my bedroom, scowling at my Cirque du Soleil poster?

Monday, April 27, 2009

Don't freak out or anything. I know, it's shocking to me too. I don't think I've read a book for fun since Bush was president...Bush Senior. Perhaps not that long ago, but certainly pre-motherhood. And the last book I read and actually enjoyed was when I was still young and thin enough to pass for a background dancer in High School Musical.

My book club (which is just another name for my Mommy Meetup group that wanted another excuse to get out of the house) is meeting for the first time this Saturday. We all put up suggestions for the first pick and since vampires are the new magical wizards, I begged and pleaded for the Sookie Stackhouse books. To my dismay, everyone else picked Twilight.

Of course. I shook my nonconformist fist and grumbled in the background, but eventually picked up the damn thing to get a feel for it before next weekend. I started it around 5 p.m. last night, read between rounds of dinner, diaper changes, watering Dom after he mowed the lawn, and was about 2 chapters away from finishing it by the time I went to bed at 10. Woke up and immediately finished it between rounds of breakfast, diapering, and coffee/sippy cup refills.

Now, it's no secret that I have an affinity for the strange and elegant allure of a good vampire saga. Well that and cutesy robots that dream of being human. Who doesn't like a heartwarming robot story? Or cheesecake? I really love cheesecake.

Anytransition, back in the day I was nearly to the level of obsession that involves licking the television screen every time I saw David Boreanaz on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So, holy freakin' bloodsucker...I need me some more Edward Cullen. I've actually been pacing my house because Dom took my car today and I can't continue from the New Moon sneak peek in the back of my paperback until he gets home and I can go get the full version.

Can you blame me? It's got all that excitement of falling in love that gives your stomach flutters, danger and damsel in distress rescues, and the guy sparkles in sunshine. Yes, I not-so-secretly daydream about being saved from death by incredibly handsome undead men who are then shocked when I suddenly kick their asses in a very slayeresque manner for doing so. Because clearly, I don't need saving but I want the best of both worlds.

Today's subject line quote is Bookstore Owner, "Angel" (1999) {Are You Now or Have You Ever Been (#2.2)}.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Social circles involve all kinds of horrific and annoying people. Not all are the same level of civil atrocity and depending on what person you are, "the worst" is always subjective. Over the years I've met rainbow of headaches in the form of people. I'm guessing most of you have met someone that could fall under one of these categories too.

The Escape ArtistHe or she is a master of self-defensive maneuvers, and by that I don't mean a wicked set of karate chops and sweep kicks. This person has an excuse for everything. They've given stubbornness a face and it's staring you right in the eyes. These types have a million problems they have to share with you, but secretly like their troubles because of the attention they receive. Here's an example:

EA: "My foot is on fire."Joe Schmo: "Throw water on it!"EA: "I would, but I don't want to get wet."JS: "Fire extinguisher?"EA: I'm allergic to things that might help me. I'll just wait it out.

The Therapist

This Dear Abby will undoubtedly get tired of the Escape Artist's shenanigans quickly because he/she is an advice giver to the point of needing a real therapist. "Therapists" think their crappy experiences give them the authority and heroic calling to inform everyone that "What you need to do is..."

One-Uppers

Have a really great story involving dancing elephants and a tour bus breaking down in front of your house? Great, but the One-Upper had Dinosaurs in tutus drive a trash truck through a neighbor's window.

I'm naturally a bit of a One-Upper. It's not intentional or as extreme as most true OU's, but I do feel compelled to share story for story. I've met a new group of moms via meetup.com recently. They're normal. All pretty down-to-earth and even sometimes funny. More importantly, they laugh at my humor instead of just staring at me with a why are you still talking look.

Which is why I'm trying to mute myself every other conversational topic. Not everyone has to hear EVERY story I might have been reminded of. That's what I have a blog for.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

I am not dead! It's been an eventful and interesting week of which I will now address; however, Dom made me watch this again last night and since I, too, am le tired I feel like pronouncing everything with a Group X quality French accent.

So I have declared that le blog should be read today out loud with a French accent. Is funnier, no?

First off, the inspection I was yelling at the laundry about went fine. They have now registered that we have a "mostly outside" cat that "we made the mistake of feeding once." In other words, we never told them about Opie and instead of staying outside after I threw him over the fence in the back, he came back whining at the back door.

Also, our oven broke the day before the guy showed up. And since I'm still waiting for a call back, I'm going to have to contact them myself. We also must have been right in the middle of a light bulb kamikaze mission because they ALL burnt out the same day. No one has that many on hand unless they're Mormon or a Boyscout.

Then our internet got scared of all my yelling at the laundry and ran off again. After spending 2 hours on the phone with tech support with the cable company and a man in India that works for Linksys, my internet still didn't work. Well the net did, but the router was still effed up. I fixed it by myself without having to call another Indian man for 2 hours. I am le awesome.

You forgot to continue with the accent! Hm? It's ok, I reminded you. Come on "reminded" is an especially fun one to say all French and fancy pants.

Now for the better parts! Did (most) of our taxes and we will be receiving a large refund. I'm not surprised, we do have a walking rebate trying to poop in his diaper right now. But we've decided to pay off a credit card with it. We managed to pay off 2 in the last year! Now if we use our refund, that will leave us with minimal credit card debt and can actually eliminate that by next tax day!

So we celebrated by buying a few frivolous (do it French) items. We never really do that! We have a monthly allowance that often gets neglected because we're so frugal now. Frugal is just another word for "guilty about spending."

Anyway, Dom got a new Playstation 2 since the one we bought used a few years ago died a slow and painful death. It's been refusing to read discs more and more. Since we just bought an assload of Guitar Hero stuff at Christmas, we just couldn't bring ourselves to get another platform. We felt a bit frugal about it.

And guess what I got! Did you say iPod Touch? Why, yes! I did get an iPod Touch!! It's le sweetness. I'm totally turning into one of those people that's always on the internet via a mobile device. Prepare yourselves for me becoming a total asshole. That's why I'm having you pretend I'm French today.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

I'm having internet issues...so this is actually the entry intended for March 26:

Friends are the family you choose and family is the family you endure for the sake of good blogging material after major holidays. However, I lucked out when the heavens assigned me to my dad. He's about the coolest dad I could have ended up with. And since today marks the 55th anniversary of him popping out of my grandma, my readers get An Ode to my Dad.

He's often regarded as a quiet man. When he does speak, it's frequently profound or simply hilarious. When on vacation in Orlando, we rode the "Earthquake" ride that ends with a flaming propane tank exploding next to the fake subway car. My dad, who was sitting on the outside of the car and had been front and center for the firey blaze, turned to the rest of our family and quietly said, "Well I forgot to wear my SPF 5000." He's very much like the classic Winnie the Pooh, in his short and very matter-of-fact statements such as "Oh, just a small helping of honey...well perhaps a bit larger of a small portion."This secretly thrilled me growing up because it scared the holy crapolas out of boys coming to court me. See, teenage boys don't like a silent father figure because there is a fear in the unknown. There was no way to tell if they were liked or likeable. Was there even hope for them to charm their way in to my father's good graces? Even I couldn't tell. But it did make me rest easy that I wouldn't be hassled or treated like anything other than the lady I was, because my dad would probably run them over with the GMC Jimmy parked in the driveway. Quietly. They'd never hear it coming.

And even though I may sing his praises on the blog one day out of the year, I think about him constantly. I'm lucky. Because my son is a blonde toddler version of my dad's image, I am always reminded of how much I love both of them.

It makes me recount my days still living with my parents and sharing all of our favorite snacks that made my mom want to gag, like cottage cheese or crackers and milk. It was something that I had solely with him. And it made me feel special knowing that I was the only person in the world that got to sit in his lap after he came home from work.

Since he’s a quiet guy, I may talk to my mom on the phone more--but I still feel just as connected to my dad. I really hope that Michael will get to share some of those bonding experiences with me and his "Pops" when he's older.

Today's subject line quote is Big Pete Wrigley, "The Adventures of Pete and Pete" (1993).

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Um, laundry? Why do you have to be such a punkass bitch? I've got an inspection of this renthouse on Saturday and you're just lying there on my couch like a lazy pile of clothes. Go fold yourself! Make yourself useful. Get a job so I can hire a maid, watch my kid while I take a shower, or just make me some more coffee so I can clean this place up on my own!

Every day I have to see you crumpled up in a heap, mocking me with your lifelessness until one of the umpteen toddler shirts rolls onto the floor and I'm forced to pick THAT up too. You disgust me. I'm going to set you on fire and buy new clothes.

A plea to my hair:

Please stop doing that wavey, kinky, swirl thing. It's not cute. Now I have to spend the time I need to fold the good-for-nothing laundry drying and styling you because I'm a superficial and petty diva who wants to be judged by her social ineptitude rather than bad hair.

A plea to my stomach:

Quit whining. There's an enchilada in the fridge.

A plea to the enchilada in the fridge:

Please don't make me fat. If I have to eat any more grilled sandwiches with fat free cheese and light bread that falls apart when you butter it with SmartBalance Lite margarine, I'm gonna set the laundry on fire.

Monday, March 23, 2009

I've caught something that's been going around and I have now given it to my husband. I'm not talking about the stomach bug that's been causing major barfage--though, I may have that as well.

This is much more serious. It's epidemic that inevitably keeps society going and growing. I've got the fever people! Baby Fever.

From a statistical standpoint, it was an inevitability. I first contracted it back in 2006 after being exposed to Meredith's first round. Once you've had the fever, you're far more likely to develop symptoms in the future--especially after being in close contact of mothers with multiple or small children.

There is no set "cure" for Baby Fever. After the initial exposure, the fever will either burn itself out or develop into a much more serious condition which eventually leads to the removal of a large growth from the uterus.

Luckily, there are precautions that can be taken to prevent the growth from gestating often known in common vernacular as "birth control." It will not treat the fever, but does give the affected patient time to assess the sickness and prepare for the onset of symptoms.

Symptoms that develop in Stage 1: Pre-growth Fever

uncontrollable verbal skills near infants that cause the patient to involuntarily say "awwww," sporadic bouts of crying near children, young and fluffy animals, and Pampers commercials, illusions of grandeur that allow the affected to believe they can withstand extended periods of time without sleep, a compelling need to spread the fever to your significant other

Symptoms that develop in Stage 2: Growth Inutero

extreme irritability, incessable hunger leading to the expulsion of the patient from all-you-can-eat buffets, vomitus maximus, back pain, knee pain, foot pain, neck pain, vagina pain, a magnetic force around your belly that pulls in old ladies to touch it, sensitivity to stupid people

And those are just the ailments that occur in women who contract Baby Fever. So what happens when men, like Dominic, are affected? They gain 20 lbs. after sympathetically craving sushi and ribs for 9 months.

We haven't moved from Stage 1 yet, so with some home remedy treatments (exposing ourselves to ill-mannered, screaming toddlers and taking vacations without children) we might beat this thing before it becomes much more serious.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Dom took me to get some New York style pizza last night for dinner and it helped me unwind a little. I found the ziplock full of my makeup in the back pouch of the diaper bag and managed to salvage my hairstyle with a knitted headband, so I didn't feel so trashy going out.

We laughed about the lousy day we both had and it was nice. Though Dom didn't have to save a toddler from a gigantic ant hill, he did have 4 shots of espresso for breakfast and was still reeling from it in the car after dinner. Being the java junkie that I am, just talking about it made me ask him stop at Starbucks to let me go in and get a latte.

And here's the part of my night when a barista confused me with his social ineptitude.

I think he must have interpreted my need for coffee and knitted headband-metallic purse look as someone who throws "The Hills" watch parties because he kept making assumptions about how I'm not appreciating my day enough.

First off he was one of those bubbly, service industry guys that feels particularly safe fortified behind the counter. I say this, because he wasn't even the one taking my order but still felt obligated to say,

"So one of everything on the menu right?""No. Not quite.""Oh, just half then."

I smiled at his attempt, because friendliness is a rare and precious thing to me. Strangers are often stiff and uncomfortable, and it's unfortunate to not be yourself around the majority of society. My smiling demeanor usually goes unnoticed in public. If I try to coax a pleasant interaction out of someone behind a counter, 99% of the time it ends with them looking up and away while telling me a total.

The one time I go somewhere with an I had a bad day countenance, and Super Barista thinks it is his personal quest to figure me out.

"You look tired." I immediately shot back an "I am," with an implied you dumbass attached. Good thing I don't have that condition where you can't filter your thoughts from what you actually say because I was thinking, You work at a coffee shop, shouldn't the people coming in either look like zombies or completely wired?

He then proceeded to spill his guts about how it's a nice day and I should go for a walk in the park to make up for him being stuck inside, only to retract it quickly with a "What am I saying, you're probably on your way to work."

I corrected him. Kid, husband, car...coffee? I also really wanted to tell him that this afternoon's romp out in the backyard got me a handfull of antbites while rescuing my 16 month-old, so my appreciation for the outdoors may need some time to recover. I didn't.

Once discovering I was a stay-at-home mom and not fashionista locked in a cubicle all day, he seemed to quit trying to make me have a bigger love for life. Or maybe he was just trying to hit on me the whole time.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Ever have one of those terrible days when you feel overwhelmed after a 12 hour car trip to visit family for the weekend and having to tend to a baby, dog, and husband the whole way there and back, but then you get home and realize there's 3 suitcases of laundry to do and a basket leftover from before you left, then you run out of diapers but don't want to go out to buy any because you lost your makeup bag somewhere in the car and already let your hair go curly today because you were feeling the ick after traveling all day yesterday but without proper makeup you look more like a homeless person instead of pulling off the wavy chic look, but later have to go anyway because you need to buy children's Benadryl after you and your son were attacked by ants while playing in the back yard, especially when the Irish in you just wants to drink all day and say "fock" instead of "fuck" in honor of St. Patty's Day?

Ever had one of those days? Don't you dare say "yes." I will throw ants at you.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Last night the shopping expedition went much smoother. Dom stayed home with Michael so I didn't have to worry about the munchkin running through the aisles of Hobby Lobby and knocking over the displays of glass decor that fill the center of the store.

I got a birthday present for my dad, but I can't tell you what it is because he sometimes reads this. Hi, Daddy! And I also found a sweet metallic purse. It was the only one left and someone had pulled the tag off. When I asked an associate about the price she said, "Oh, I bought a few of those the other day. I think they were either $11.99 or $19.99." I scrunched up my face when she said it might be 20 bucks and she smiled and said, "Want me to take it up front and tell them it's $11.99?"

Sweet! I got a cheap purse. It's got a lot of room, too. It's this shape, but this color, and no fake scaley trim either.

It made me wicked happy. And even though I only spent about as much time shopping as the night before, I felt less rushed. That made the whole experience more enjoyable. I even managed to get a portable DVD player for Michael for our upcoming car trip! Yay, I can listen to Elmo for hours instead of a crying toddler. Is that really any better?

The chick that got it out of the display cabinet for me didn't know anything about DVD players or car mounting kits. But she did say she could "Axe someone over dere." I bit my lip so hard, I though it would be bruised this morning. It's not. And I get to tell you all about it. Makes me think that it really will be the proper pronunciation in another 1,000 years. Futurama may be right! Let's just hope none of us accidentally time travel trying to make popcorn and end up our own grandparent.

Today's subject line quote is Leela, "Futurama" (1999) {Roswell that Ends Well (#4.1)}.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

This week has been filled with nonbloggables. Lots of unremarkable things that I must remark on to magically manifest into a decent post.

No. I refuse. Not the post part, you're getting it. But it's not going to be decent...or coherent. Ready?

I'm making a purse out of scrap materials because another henna artist in Ohio does it and it looked like fun. I also look to her website for inspiration with my designs and that's where I buy my dye from. She should be flattered by how much I stalk her via the web, really. But what makes my purse able to kick her purses' asses, is that I am embroidering mine. It's not by hand, but it's certainly not being done with a computer program either. I'm using my sewing machine, but I'm guiding it by hand. And yup, you guessed it...I'm doing a henna design that I probably ripped off from someone over the past 5 years.

I saw Hostile Harriet in the gym locker room again. She just smiled at me and left to go soak in the hot tub. Score!

Liz left me the most awesome voice mail message ever. Too bad you can't hear it. I'm certainly not going to type it out because it looses it's magic without the fluctuation in tone.

Last night, Dom and I planned to go to dinner together and then he would take Michael to the park and let me shop. But by the time we split, I only had an hour and a half to get to the mall, shop, and come pick them up. I sped shopped through Sears and Forever 21 and came out with 4 shirts that look the same.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Turns out, Breathe Right Nasal Strips really do work. I've always been one of those cynical A-holes that assumed it was all a big load of dookie. My husband's used them off and on for years, but I figured he bought into the propaganda and psyched himself up for a miracle. Because, really, who expects a bandaid strapped to your nose to stretch your nostrils wide enough to breathe better?

Me. That's who.

But since I don't think I snore, there hasn't been much opportunity to give it a whirl. Except last night pollen must have invaded every crevice of my body because my eyes were puffy, I thought my skin was going to fall off from the constant scratching, and my nose was rather useless to me for all the snot occupying it.

Dom gave me one of his glorified bandaids. Of course I had to put it on crooked and waste one because I'm inept like that. But once I figured it all out, I slept great! I didn't wake up with that dry throat and crusty tounge that usually comes from breathing through my mouth for 8 hours. I don't think I even woke up in the middle of the night.

Maybe I need these things every night? Maybe I toss and turn because I do snore? What if I have Apnia like my dad and need to sleep with a machine strapped to my nose that blows air up my nostrils? Does this mean I can have a free nose job? Is this too many questions, like what Val Kilmer said to Jim Carey in Batman Forever that made him go insane and dress in green spandex littered with question marks?

Monday, March 9, 2009

My father-in-law is some sort of domain name guru. He must own half the internet because he throws websites to people like Mardi Gras beads at a parade. He had set us up with www.domdimaggio.com of which I post all of our family pictures but now I have a page of my own namesake.

Unfortunately, I haven't got a clue what to put on it. Currently it still has the white background and default "Welcome to the world of Cassidy Leanne Pond-DiMaggio" that Dom's dad put on before sending me the link. I've put some pictures up of my artwork in the gallery, but nothing on the front page. See what I mean? Here is the gallery I was talking about.

Any ideas on how to format or what to even showcase? I want it to look like a real website, professional. I don't want it to look like a 5th grader put it together for a class project.